Satine
by Daphne-Fae
Summary: The very special memories of Harold Zidler. English version now available! FINISHED!!!
1. You're Satine

Well, finally I started with the translation of my story about the Moulin Rouge. Since it takes a certain time not simply translating the story but trying to write it down "anew" in another language with other sentence structures and so on, I'll publish the story in several chapters. So don't you worry, the story isn't over yet… For those who cannot wait 'til the next chapter and are able to read german, just write me a short message and I'll send the original version to you.  
  
And don't be so rude if there are mistakes, I try to do my very best…  
  
-------Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, though I made up some names for some courtesans, but to Twentieth Century Fox, Baz Luhrmann or whoever.-------  
  
  
  
Satine  
  
  
  
It was evening, and it was raining, when I found her, a little girl, cowering in a corner, holding a little, wooden doll tight, as if she feared, I could take it away from her. Her red, waved hair stuck on her face, wet because of the rain, tangled and neglected, and her bright, blue eyes looked frightened when I leaned forward and let the rain stop by holding my umbrella over her. Her whole body was shivering, the thin dress she wore was muddy and torn, keeping off neither wetness nor the cold. Her little fingers clenched even tighter around the puppet when I stroked her head carefully, but she did not fight when I lifted her up and carried her away on my arms.  
  
"Monsieur", she whispered timorously.  
  
I smiled. "Don't worry, my little girl. I will take you away from here."  
  
She didn't have a name, but there was no problem finding one when I looked at her after Marie had let her having a bath, had dryed her and had given her new clothes. Her hair was shimmering, her eyes were shining, her skin was light and soft, she was sparkling like a diamond, beautiful even now, although she could not be older than ten years. Nearly reverent I whispered: "Satine…"  
  
Blue eyes looked at me, asking, then she smiled, and I had a feeling as if the sun was sending her beams through the grey sky hanging over Montmartre and bathing that girl in her warm light.  
  
I kneeled down before her and touched her cheek softly with my fingers. "I'm Harold", I said, "and from now on, you are Satine, and you're living here with me and Marie."  
  
She nodded. Then she looked around. "Where's Sarah?"  
  
Marie gave her the wooden doll, and Satine cuddled her.  
  
"Shall we go and look whether we find such a nice dress for Sarah like you are wearing it, little Satine?"  
  
The girl exulted and hugged Marie impetuously. "Yes, oh, please, yes!"  
  
Marie smiled. "Well then, come with me."  
  
I gazed after them when they vanished into the costume room, and again, a smile appeared on my lips. She was like a little angel, so fragile, so beautiful, an angel, fallen down from heaven to light up my life, the life between the worlds, in the underground, far away from the sun. Everybody seemed to believe that life on Montmartre was full of joy, that the bohemian's awareness of life was enjoyable in its original form. Well, that might have been true; for those, who could effort this way of life, at least. We, who stood on the stage, night by night, in order to avoid the nothingness, were far away from this ideal. We lived for the show, and the show had gained control over us. And now heaven had sent me this angel, a ray of hope in the darkness of Moulin Rouge. In this moment, when she disappeared together with Marie, I swore to myself to do everything possible to give her a better life than we all lived. I swore to myself that I would never sold her to men.  
  
And god knows, I didn't want to break that oath. 


	2. The beloved one

The years passed by, and Satine grew up a wonderful juvenile. To Marie and me, she was like a daughter, to everyone in Moulin Rouge, she was like a little sister. Especially Chocolat was hardly separated from her; when she was young, he let her ride on his shoulders, and she rejoiced when he threw her up in the air, catched her and, holding her in his arms, turned round in a circle. Later, he became her best friend, comforted her, when she was bad, listened to her, when she wanted to talk, gave her a rest in his lap when she was exhausted. Her beauty, her aura as well as her charm enchanted everybody coming closer to her, we all were completely under her spell; but who could have been able to blame her for it?  
  
Satine herself loved the Moulin Rouge, although she didn't even know after three years what the Moulin Rouge really was, that it was much more than just a dancing hall, that it was a brothel in which her friends had to sell themselves to rich men for a handful of Francs every night. She only saw the dancing, and she loved it, and day by day she begged me to be allowed to dance with the others, and night by night she stood behind the stage and watched the dancers, yearning, and afterwards she often cried in Chocolat's lap, being in despair, unable to understand my worry about her.  
  
But how should she understand? I could not tell her why I didn't let her dance, because it had meant to destroy her illusions, and that would have broken her, and me and my heart as well, for I loved my little Satine, my little angel, with every beat of my heart. Yes, I wanted to protect my oath, but fate didn't want to. Satine's beauty was known outside the walls of Moulin Rouge, too, and it didn't last long until the first noblemen came to me. They offered cosmic sums of money for a night with Satine, and her youth seemingly didn't frighten them away, quite the reverse, it even attracted them. I got rid of all of them, shocked and nearly unconscious. No one would ever touch Satine, not for this dirty money, not even for all dirty money in all over the world.  
  
But time passed by, and I started to think about it, even though I hated myself for this. Those sums were incredible, and I needed money badly, because even if I didn't show it (I didn't want to frighten the customers away), the Moulin Rouge was in debts, in very deep debts, and we were dependent on investors who were able to pay a lot. And Satine could have saved us all, though not even in the age of fourteen.  
  
I had a little talk about this with Marie. She was horrified.  
  
"You want to sell our daughter? I cannot believe this!" she exclaimed.  
  
"Marie…" I looked for words, helpless. "We need the money."  
  
"She isn't even fourteen!" Her eyes were pleading.  
  
I buried my face in my hands. "Do you really believe I wanted to do this? She is the only one I love!" I was trying hard not to lose my self-control, and my voice was trembling. "But she is talented. She can sing, she is very movable, and she is beautiful. She could be a star. She could save us all!"  
  
Marie turned away and gazed out of the window into a cloudy morning of autumn. "You give her a heavy weight to carry on her shoulders, Harold Zidler."  
  
"I know." I rubbed my eyes. "I know." Then I looked up. "At least, she can learn how to dance. It is her greatest longing for a long time now."  
  
"It's your choice", she said, unmoving, and without a trace of feelings in her voice.  
  
"Does that mean yes?" I didn't get an answer. I waited a few minutes, then I took my black béret off the table and left the room.  
  
When I entered the big dancing hall – at night full of pleasure and lust, but sending out icy cold on this damned morning when I had to hand over Satine - inside the Moulin Rouge together with Satine, the dancers were looking at me in surprise. I told Chocolat to show Satine the first exercises, then I sat down on a chair outside the dance floor. I was hurting as hell inside being forced to look at her beginning to dance. She was a jewel, my jewel, and I didn't want to share her. I bit my lips not to be tempted to stop the rehearsal and bring Satine back to Marie.  
  
"Is the little angel for sale too, finally?" a voice spoke beside me suddenly. It was Nini, who was looking mockingly at Satine and pulling on her cigarette nearly exciting.  
  
"Why don't you rehearse with them, Nini, and leave those things to me." I could not look into her eyes. Most probably, I would have killed her for their expression while staring at Satine; I could imagine it just by hearing her tone.  
  
"I have asked you something, Harold", she said sharply.  
  
I was silent.  
  
"Harold!"  
  
I closed my eyes. "She is getting dancing lessons. There's nothing more."  
  
"If she's dancing, she has to sell herself. That's the rule. And you know that very well!" Her tone was annoyed, curt, and somehow deeply hurt.  
  
"She isn't even fourteen!" Without noticing it, I repeated Marie's words. But they didn't impress Nini. Quite the reverse.  
  
"You sold me when I was thirteen!" she hissed. "Because you needed the goddamn money." Her breathing was hard and irregular. "And now she has to be the next." With flashing eyes she looked at me, and it dawned upon me that she had never been more beautiful than in this moment when she showed her true feelings, and I felt something like guilt for what I had done to her.  
  
Then I turned away. "She is learning how to dance. We'll see to the rest. And now, go", I advised her. 


	3. The betrayal

Her lips had become thin when she walked onto the dance floor with her head held up high and cast her eyes scornfully on Satine who was struggling to do her first span.  
  
Satine learned quickly. She had a natural gift for dance and show, and I had big problems in finding new lies why she wasn't allowed to go on stage together with the others. It could not be denied that she danced much better than they did. And she knew about this. As well as she knew that I wasn't good at turning down her desires for a long time. And so the day came when I had to give her away. I had praised her show at the rehearsal, and she used my words to entreat me anew, to implore me to give my agreement to her dancing at night.  
  
"Harold, please!" she said and looked at me with this expression in her eyes I could hardly resist, this expression in those faithful blue eyes, deep and unfathomable and wonderful. "You've said I'm very good now!"  
  
"Satine…" I began, helpless. I was famous for my lies and my quickly improved speeches, but with Satine, it failed.  
  
"Why, Harold? Why?" Tears gathered in her eyes, and I swallowed hard while turning away. "I don't understand you!"  
  
"Satine… you cannot understand…"  
  
"I don't understand either", Nini said suddenly and stepped to her side, put her arm around her shoulders and held her close, stroked her head and smiled at me mockingly. "Why should she not dance with us? It's her greatest longing! Let her be just the same like we all are."  
  
"Nini!" I had known that she had only been waiting for that moment to stab both me and Satine in the back, but Satine didn't realize it. But how should she do? She didn't know what I knew, what Nini knew, what everybody knew in this place.  
  
"Harold…" Satine's voice was trembling.  
  
"Harold!" Nini played the innocent girl.  
  
I closed my eyes, my lips were shaking, I was looking for words. "Satine", I said finally, "why don't you go to Marie to help her ironing the costumes for tonight?"  
  
"Harold… please…"  
  
"Go now, Satine", I advised her curtly, forcing myself not to lose self- control. "I'll think about it."  
  
Low steps were dying away very slowly. When the door closed, I opened my eyes and saw the dancers' faces, most of them full of pity and consternation, but also expectant. They all new that Satine was our last hope. Everybody knew. Me too.  
  
"It's the best for us all", Nini said, without a trace of pity. "And you know it, too."  
  
I passed my hand over my mouth, wound my little goatee with thumb and forefinger. A few seconds passed. Then I looked up. "Chocolat?"  
  
The dark-skinned man stood up.  
  
It had to happen. But I would never allow some rich, nasty, fat old wretch to do it. No, I wouldn't allow any. I took a deep breath. "Make her a woman."  
  
Someone was coughing, someone else sniffled.  
  
Chocolat nodded.  
  
I closed my eyes.  
  
Nini started to laugh.  
  
With my head lowered I ran out of the dancing hall, away from this cruel laughter, away from this cruel world that had demanded my angel and which I had not been able to put up any resistance against. I slammed the door of my chamber behind me, fell down on my bed and hid my face in my pillow, I pressed it on my ears to ban Nini's voice, her laughter, out of my head, but there was no use trying it, I wasn't able to do it. I don't know how long I lay there. Sometime, I heard a scream bringing me back to reality. Shortly later someone knocked on my door. Chocolat entered my room and watched me silently. I nodded a bit and gave him advise with gestures to draw back. Then I raised and walked towards Satine's room. The door was slightly open, and slowly and carefully, I opened it completely. Trying to hide in the shadows of the wall, I entered and closed the door quietly.  
  
I didn't dare looking at Satine's bed for a long time, but when I did it, I wished to die on the spot. Satine was lying there, cowered, the blanket wrapped makeshiftly around her naked body, with her eyes wide open and her lips trembling, her hands clutching the blanket, ossified because of horror.  
  
My heart broke. 


	4. The decision is made

I crept towards her bed and sat down beside her. Hesitating I began stroking her silken red hair. She didn't fight, but she didn't loosen her tense either. "My angel…" I whispered.  
  
I had not expected any response. The more her words burned my soul. "It hurts."  
  
She spoke with a heavy shake in her voice, and she didn't move her eyes away for a second from the emptiness they were staring at. I let my hand rest on her head. "I am sorry", I said after a while. "It's time for you to know the truth."  
  
"Where's Sarah?"  
  
I bit on my lip to hold back the tears and fished with the other hand for the wooden doll that was lying on the little table. I gave it to her, and she pressed it tight to her body, her eyes still stiff and hurt.  
  
"Satine…" I started anew. "What Chocolat did to you…" She jerked. "It's called to make love. Men pay for women doing it with them. They even pay a lot. For women like Nini, Susanne, Felice…" I hesitated. "…and you."  
  
Abruptly, she turned her head, and her eyes, at any other time mild and merry, were burning, her soft face had lost his beauty for this moment, her youth had went for the age and a horror that was infinite. With all the power that I had, I defended myself against this look. "I'm sorry, but you have to become a courtesan. There's no other way. Men want you. And we want their money. We need it, Satine, otherwise we cannot effort this way of living anymore. And then we'll end up on the street, you, I, Marie, Chocolat, the whole Moulin Rouge cannot exist without you helping us. You have to learn how to satisfy a man, what they like, and you have to learn to suppress your feelings. You are talented in dancing, singing and acting, and you won't have problems in learning it."  
  
Her lips were thin. "I don't want to! It hurts!"  
  
"Yes, it hurts." I would have smiled if I had been able to. "I know that it hurts. But believe me, it hurts me too seeing you suffering. I wanted to save you, for I love you, you know. But love doesn't count. Not here, not with us. We have to obey the underworld, we are her creatures, and she claims us when we are going too far away from her. Satine…" I touched her cheek. "I will make you the star of the Moulin Rouge. You will dance every night, every man will adore you, and you will have a free choice among them. You'll be a goddess." A sad smile came to my face. "But you have to be a courtesan."  
  
She closed her eyes. "Dance every night?"  
  
"Every night", I repeated. "You'll get your own show, you'll be out of the mass. You'll be famous, the most famous woman on Montmartre."  
  
"Do you promise?" She looked up, and her look was still hurt, but soft.  
  
I smiled. "Yes, I promise."  
  
She bit her lower lip and wiped away a tear from her cheek that hat stolen away from her eye. Then, I didn't expect it, she hugged me and buried her face on my neck. "Harold…" She sniffled. "If I just may dance, I'll do every, everything!"  
  
I laid my arms around her, around her fragile, hurt, wonderful body, and held her tight. "I'll do everything for you, my darling, to make your life easier."  
  
She loosed the embrace a bit and looked at me, and she seemed much older than she was. "Then let me dance. Just dance."  
  
I nodded. And, slowly, a smile came to her lips, perhaps the most beautiful one I ever saw with her. "I love you, Harold", she said softly. "I don't care whether it counts or not, I love you, mon père."  
  
"Ma petite", I whispered and kissed her on the forehead. "Do you forgive me?"  
  
She nodded, and tears were running down her cheeks. "Yes."  
  
The same evening, Satine was on stage for the first time together with the other courtesans from the Moulin Rouge. The customers were enthusiastic about the young blood among the dancers, and the offers were outbidding each other. The chosen one was a young, at least a bit handsome lord from England who was just visiting Paris. She had chosen him herself, and the way she was treating him even seemed to me, who was knowing about her, just as if she had never done anything else than being on stage, dancing, turning the men on and finally giving herself to one of them. 


	5. What is love?

Again, the years passed by. One year after her first show she was known outside the walls of Paris, too, and another year later she had her own show at the Moulin Rouge. From night to night the sums increased the men were willing to pay for her, from night to night she became more famous.  
  
At first she often came to me during the day, laid her head in my lap and talked about her experiences, her dreams, her fears and worries. I comforted her, calmed her down, helped her as much as I could. But with everything I did, I couldn't make one wish come true. She wanted to be an actress, a real actress, at home on the stages of the world. An actress like Sarah Bernhardt. She had always adored her, her picture was hung up in her dressing room, once I could give her the chance to see Sarah Bernhardt acting in a theatre in Paris, and with every day passing by, her wish grew and grew.  
  
It was nearly the only thing she could speak about: To be as famous as her, not to be only a courtesan, but to be loved truly, to own no other worth but her inner ones. And I wanted to make it come true, I wanted so badly, but I wasn't able to, for I didn't have the money. So it was a vicious circle we couldn't escape from. Not without help.  
  
I went to every rich man who came to the Moulin Rouge, I implored, I begged, but they all had too much interest in the brothel to invest in rebuilding the Moulin Rouge into a theatre. They all were filled too much with lust to understand my requests.  
  
Obviously, the only one understanding me was a dwarf called Toulouse- Lautrec, visiting the Moulin Rouge often and with enthusiasm. He was one of the revolutionaries believing in the bohemian's victory. There was just one disadvantage: He adored love as the greatest goddess of all, and he wanted to use the theatre to spread his convictions. Nevertheless, he had a good head on his shoulders, filled with good ideas, and the upper class of Paris would have liked a play with those themes, so it was not of value whether I liked it or not. Satine was gone of him, and it happened that she spent whole afternoons with him. I even feared she could have fallen in love, because one evening she came to me, gave her head a rest in my lap and asked me what love was. I didn't know what to answer.  
  
"Love is a strong feeling", I tried to explain. "Love makes you doing things you wouldn't do normally. Love drives you mad." I wasn't convinced myself by what I said, but I hoped she would believe me and not ask anymore. But I was wrong.  
  
"Toulouse says, love could move the mountains, and she was the only thing mankind could believe in", she said. "Toulouse says, love is the most wonderful thing in the world."  
  
"Toulouse says many things during the day.", I answered and uttered a groan.  
  
"But…" She paused. "I want to become acquainted with love. I want to have my own opinion."  
  
"Honey, love isn't made for us."  
  
"Why?" She drew characters on my knee with her finger. "Are you telling me we couldn't love? Toulouse says, everybody can love. And you cannot do anything against it. You fall in love, he says, and you're powerless against this feeling."  
  
I passed my hand through my hair. "Satine, Toulouse is a blather."  
  
"It isn't true?" She seemed excited and a bit shocked. "Toulouse read books to me in which love is the main thing, where humans are dealing with greatest dangers and even are dying for their love, because they don't want to be separated from each other. And this is a lie? I cannot believe this!"  
  
"Satine…"  
  
She sat up abruptly and looked directly into my eyes. "I want to become acquainted with love, Harold, and you cannot forbid it."  
  
"I can and I will. You must not fall in love, Satine."  
  
Unbelieving she stared at me. "I must not fall in love?"  
  
"You must not fall in love", I repeated calmly, but inside, I was cursing for Toulouse had destroyed everything. I had tried to keep her away from love, and then this dreamer came along and destroyed everything I had build up with so much difficulty. "That's the way it is. We must not. No one pays for you when he loves you and you loves him, too. He's expecting everything for free. And this will force us to live on the street. You mustn't do this. You have to see."  
  
Without a word she left me and hardly spoke with me the next days. I know that I had hurt her deeply, but I didn't have another choice. The only thing I could do was going on trying to make her dream of being an actress come true. Without any results.  
  
Some weeks later, Satine came to me and said that she had thought a lot about my words.  
  
"I read books", she said. "There are some in which love is wonderful, like those which Toulouse read to me. But he hid something. For love always ends in jealousy, madness or hate. You're acting like a fool when you're in love, and when it's over, you go mad, you drink, you destroy your own life."  
  
I looked at her in astonishment. "Why can you read?"  
  
"Toulouse lent me some of his books, and I taught myself to read by learning by heart what he had read to me. It was easy. Everything is easy when you want it." She closed her eyes shortly. "I don't want to fall in love. I don't want to end up like the lovers in those stories. I want to be free and independent. And I want to live. Love doesn't feed me, love doesn't give me money."  
  
I nodded. "So, you understand me?"  
  
"Yes", she replied. "I understand you. And I'm sorry for my foolish behaviour." She smiled. "I'm just a little girl that has to learn what is important in life. Love is… a word. Imagined by poets, believed by dreamers. And you were right, Toulouse is a blather."  
  
I don't know whether she believed really what she said, for she was a dreamer, too, who was imagining a life as a famous actress. But I noticed that she spoke about it less. Obviously, she had accepted to dance as a courtesan in the Moulin Rouge forever, and I felt a cold and a distance between me, having forced her to live this life, and her. 


	6. If I just...

I still loved her, and so I didn't give up with wooing her softly and trying to make her dream come true. She was my daughter, and I had to give everything to make her being happy.  
  
Amazingly, her aura on stage grew with every day passing by without any success, as if she was trying to fulfil her desire herself, for with every night the sums paid for a night with Satine became bigger and bigger. The Elephant was a sign for huge honour, and those who could boast of having spent a night there were both envied and admired in Paris of the rich and the beautiful. But, no matter how hard she tried, there was never enough money, because all the time little renovations were of extreme necessity, the clients insisted on their contracts, costumes had to be sewed, and we had never even the most little Centime to save and invest in a rebuilding.  
  
Thus we both worked for one goal, dogged was she, but without any hope, desperate was I and driven by a wish whose fulfilment was the only wish I had left after all those years. And though we struggled both, even if not together, we could not make just a little step towards the aim.  
  
Until the day when I met the Duke. To my amazement, he was cooperative, friendly, and he listened to my concept of rebuilding the Moulin Rouge with interest. It should have made me suspicious, but I was too happy having at last found someone who obviously was willing to subsidize me to think about any ulterior motive of him.  
  
Perhaps it was irony of fate that it was evening and raining when I knocked at Satine's door, three times, she told me to enter and I told her about my success. But on this evening, when Satine's eyes were shining as beautiful as on the evening when I found her – and they had not shone like this for a long time – when she embraced me and stammered how happy she was, on this evening I didn't think about fate or destiny. Today I damn myself for it, for I sent Satine towards death and myself towards ruin.  
  
The Duke insisted in holding the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. Moreover, he demanded Satine. In return, he subsidized the whole rebuilding, and Satine's dream as well as our future was within reach. Who could have foreseen that Satine was already dying?  
  
That she fell for love, too, that she was driven into the arms of some young english writer called Christian, was, seen backwards now, the only positive aspect with the whole story.  
  
When and where Satine had been infected with consumption is something I don't know. But whoever had done that, he had destroyed a life that was much too short, that just had seen an incredible future before its eyes. She was loved, the first time in her life she was loved truly, the Moulin Rouge had become a theatre, she was the star, the principal actress, and somehow we would have been able to deceive the Duke, to save us all, to live on in glory and glamour, for somehow we always had been able to fiddle our way through.  
  
But now I am standing at her grave, one of many, an un-spectacular mass grave out of Montmartre, maybe it isn't even hers, but that of another person, and everything is over, the dream has been dreamed through, the show will not go on.  
  
Satine is dead, the sparkling diamond has become dull and went out.  
  
I blame myself having given her to the cruel hands of world. Marie said that it was not my fault, because I didn't have a choice.  
  
I'm not sure about this anymore.  
  
Perhaps I never was.  
  
But now I cannot change a thing, it is too late. It was too late for a long time.  
  
The world didn't stop turning round even if we all expected it. Obviously, it's the only show going on for eternity. We must try to make the best out of it. In the end, the world gets us back, rich or old, there is no difference. We have to live now and to stand our ground. And so we won't have lived for nothing.  
  
With this good intention in my heart that is not mine but Christian's, I leave the graveyard. The sun is rising at the moment, and the grass is shining because of the dew. The world is wonderful somehow.  
  
Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? 


End file.
